


Wallow

by Akuma Memento Mori_reposted fics (BBJ_3)



Category: Ghost Rider (2007), Ghost Rider (Comics)
Genre: Demons, Ghost Rider - Freeform, M/M, The Elements - Freeform, The Hidden, character study: Wallow, old story, post-Gressil's death, reposted, the fallen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBJ_3/pseuds/Akuma%20Memento%20Mori_reposted%20fics
Summary: The Elements, The Hidden, The Fallen...by any name the three of them were more connected than any others who fell or rose or lay between. Blackheart knew this, preyed upon this. As long as one was his, they were all his, but one mattered more to him than the rest...





	Wallow

When Blackheart first saw the Ghost Rider he could barely contain his laughter. The man was pitiful as he struggled in the chains, still the remembrance of the old ones that he had grown up watching his father send out  one after another kept him from truly doubting that this new rider was a threat.

He saw from the corner of his eye that Wallow was tensed, as much as the calm hidden one could be. His dark wet locks swayed at his anger, but his lips remained straight and emotionless. He had always seemed the most distant of the fallen, yet he was just as swift as the rest to fury. The soft tread of the near immortal sent the damned blood within his veins to a near boil.

A soft breath, witty banter, and a hand holding Wallow back so that Gressil was moving forward. Fallen through the consuming powers of fury was he who was pinned to the earth, so his rage flung him into battle. Out of the corner of his eye Blackheart saw the questioning glance. The uncertainty there was insulting but the insult was far better than watching the least damned of his minions die. He did not believe that he was ready for that quite yet.

They could hear him long after they were gone. The cry for help that they were forced to ignore. The betrayal hurt the two remaining worse than their first betrayal ever had. The wind howling with a mixture of mocking laughter and agonizing loss as he swirled between existing and not. The pain of being was all too consuming for he who had fallen through the consuming powers of revelry. In an old iron tub, the tears were invisible as Wallow's body blurred even as Blackheart brushed a finger into the liquid sending ice through the water and the near immortal, he failed to numb the pain of loss from him.

The Elements, The Hidden, The Fallen...by any name the three of them were more connected than any others who fell or rose or lay between. Blackheart knew this, preyed upon this. As long as one was his, they were all his. But he envied them their devotions, especially the devotion from the water which arched forward in shock at the intimate touch before sinking further in the depths as though he were horrified by it. But the eyes seemed to remain at the surface, unblinking…waiting and watching for what the Prince of Hell would do next.

Blackheart crouched by the side of the old tub, but his hands remained on the edge as the eyes wearily watched. He had always wanted more than he possessed, San Venganza was only one such example. The Hidden existed due to being consumed by a singular emotion to the point of forgetting who they were and who they served. Pinned to an element as fickle or as endless as what had consumed them. He knew the mercurial revelry of the wind and the righteous fury of the earth. Both terrifying in their own ways, but his eyes strayed to the last whose reason he could not comprehend.

“Does this remind you of then?” the words escaped before he could stop them, but he forgave himself for the face that rose to the surface with confusion knotted in his brow. He rarely speaks, but his silence was easily understood, “When you fell you cried and drowned in your own tears…”

The other sunk further into the shallow tub whispering, “Yes…yes….”

Blackheart almost reeled at the admittance, but years under his father’s whip and cane taught him control of his emotions long ago. Smiling gently, he ran his hand across the water’s surface barely grazing it. The water shivered and a long aching moan spilled up from the depths as Wallow’s form shuttered into existence. His eyes pained, and his lips parted as his chest heaved though he did not need breath. He was fully clothed and just as soaked as when he first greeted Blackheart in the bar if not more so.

“I could help you forget all the pain…” he cooed softly to the broken angel before him. A shiver ran down the other’s spine, but his lips simply closed as his chest stilled, “Despair consumed you before, Wallow, I cannot afford to allow it to do so again.”

A frown tilted the very edges of the other’s lips downwards, and he stood looking down at Blackheart with a flicker of righteous fury in his eyes, but it was nothing in compare to the bonfire of fury that had been in Gressil’s, “I do not need your pity, little prince.”

Stepping out of the tub, he left wet footprints, his feet bare against the old wooden floor, as he went towards the door. Outside of the small one room house, Abigor howled out as he swirled between existence and nonexistence. Long hair waved passed the windows which shook with his wails. Blackheart knew all too well the comfort they would take in each other if he allowed Wallow to take even a single step outside the door. A line would blur between the wind and the water as vapors mingled between forming bodies.

Grabbing Wallow by the shoulder, he threw him across the room until he hit the bare mattress on the rickety brass frame the trembled at the impact. Wide blue eyes looked up from beneath eyelashes covered in dew with impatience but the despair lingered there beneath it all. Moving slowly towards the bed like a predator stalking his prey, he watched as the other sat up and watched him with interest. As he closed in on him, he saw the flickering glance to the door before Wallow could run. Hands of freezing steel hold him down like no mortal hands could, pinning him in the form of a man as his mouth covered his panicked screams.

The struggle made it all the better to the son of the devil. Feeling the supple flesh cringe at his touch, flinch away from his wandering hands which held him down forcing him to stay while the water rolled across the clothe and flesh, staining the mattress beneath him. His lips did not leave the other’s knowing neither needed breath, and he had little desire for Abigor to hear the sound and enter the scene. Blackheart’s hips pressed into the one’s below him as his eyes darkened at the fear within the fallen angel who writhed as though his touch were flames.

The clothing that had been moist was slowly becoming dry as all excess water seeped away, but it remained cold and stiffened at his touch as he peeled it away from Wallow’s body. Claws tore into his skin and fangs bit his tongue, but that merely goaded him onwards. Conquering the near immortal beneath him. Forcing the nubile body to move as he commanded. His eyes sparkling as all clothing fell away and only his remains. Fallen, Wallow was as any other mortal man in form. Running a hand over the semi-erected flesh Blackheart crooned at the shiver that sent the other arching into his hand. Wallow attempted to turn away, his face flushed by the touch, but Blackheart’s mouth follows his own. Swallowing his cries and shameful moans.

It was only as Wallow fell once more, but this time to lust instead of despair, that his mouth was released and the alluring siren’s song of his passion rang clear through the air. Running his hand down Wallow’s side, Blackheart could not contain his smug pleasure at the sight. Though his touch was freezing, he had set Wallow ablaze unable to contain the lust within darkened blue eyes and false gasps from breathless lungs. Sliding down the other as he tossed his trench coat and shirt to the side where the other’s clothing already lays, black eyes sparkle as he took Wallow into his mouth as his hands caressed the soft flesh of his inner thighs.

Misted neon blue eyes stared down at him as a pale chest heaved for unneeded breath as he licked and teased. Dark hair hung down before his vision, but the drying locks fell back as he tossed his head as a moan ripped its way from his throat. His body aching from the pleasure that boiled his blood and the touch that froze his skin. He has known feeling and each one burned him further knowing that he was not supposed to feel as humans did; now as he has fallen he felt each one more acutely than a human ever could. When he came in Blackheart’s mouth there was no taste, but it hardly mattered. Swallowing, the other sat up and smiled at the sight of Wallow spread out before him ready for the taking. Tossing his pants aside, he returned to his position between the other’s open legs.

Humming softly a single finger circled the fallen’s entrance before pushing inwards. He knew he should not be shocked but he was, for inside he was already moistened and prepared, “You were made for this,” he commented idly, but the tired eyes that glower into his told him otherwise which made it all the better, “You have accepted this,” blue eyes fell aside unwilling to look up until a hand grabbed his chin and forced him to meet the dark eyes, “Do not be ashamed, my broken seraphim, you were mine from the moment you fell.”

With a kiss much softer than those before he thrust within the moist heat, for even though the other was cold by any mortal’s standards the freezing blood in Blackheart’s veins made him seem feverishly hot. He swelled with ecstasy at the feel of the other’s hands on his shirtless back as they drew blood and a voice once heard among the choirs broke the silence of the dawn. Between them pleasure and pain became one and the same. Neither accustomed to caring hands and a world solely of pleasure. For one was spawned by hell’s finest and the other had been consumed by despair far before he felt the bliss of pleasure.

Blackheart thrilled in the feel of nearly dry skin and hair against his fingers and palms. He had known that beneath the waters of his sin, Wallow was still the closest to his old kin of the three, now two. He knew he would never feel the glory of conquering one of the Host, but he knew of their numbness, their hollow existence of pure peace and knew that Wallow was as close as he desired to come. The cold heat bloomed below his navel as he drew the other closer wanting to claim him deeper than Abigor ever could or Gressil ever had. For he, unlike they, could not meld with him becoming clay or vapor but he could force him to remain whole. Force him to lay bare before him as though he were mortal, or perhaps immortal, and not simply close to both but not quite either.

Wallow never begged nor pleaded, but that was not what Blackheart needed from him. They tore each other apart, each making the other acknowledge the burning equality of power between them. Both knew that the moment they parted, Wallow would still be pinned to the water and Blackheart would still be pinned to the fires of his father. What was worse was that Blackheart knew his desire for more had ceased within his gut, at least when pertaining to lust. He wanted only Wallow but knew that Wallow could never be just his until he was the only one left to be with.

Coming moments apart the near immortal fell to slumber quickly, but Blackheart could not find sleep. The pale form that lay beside him was perfectly dry, not even a sheen of sweat across his skin. Long dark eyelashes shuttered against high cheekbones and long brown hair curled gently around his face. His chest did not rise or fall but Blackheart knew he was alive for the slight flutter of an essence beneath the flesh that his hands felt drawn to like magnets.

Running a hand through dried hair, he reveled in the moment as a true celestial lied beside him in bed. But he was wise enough to know that he was not the only one who knew that Wallow retained more of his former glory than any other. For from the bed, he saw the wind damning him silently and knew who he would sacrifice to appease the Ghost Rider next. Abigor dissipated with a scowl, but he would be back for if one was his, both were his until soon there would only be one. Smiling, all his teeth gleamed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> found this on a stored drive of mine with a few others. They're all a bit weird, and I'm not active in the fandoms anymore, but I thought - hey, why not?


End file.
